


What Vengeance Wrought

by Grimweaver



Series: Memoirs of a Listener [3]
Category: Elder Scrolls
Genre: F/M, Justice, Revenge, The Dark Brotherhood - Freeform, vengeance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-10-19 12:54:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10640271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grimweaver/pseuds/Grimweaver
Summary: Malkhai reflects on the events that led up to her bold choice to save the life of a man, who would live on to become one of the most legendary figures of all time.





	1. Chapter 1

**The next day began in the early hours of the morning;** with a hearty breakfast, a cup of strong black tea, and a mind drifting out from the quiet shores of the present and into the raging waves of the past; wherefrom the memory of a traumatic event resurfaced, and with it all the emotions attached to it.

_The Market District Massacre._

It was the 3rd of Frost Fall, 3E417, three days after my transfer from Solitude to the Imperial City. I decided to spend some of the free time I had in the morning at the Arboretum- having lived in Skyrim since birth without ever visiting other provinces before, I was anxious to take in the surrounding Cyrodiilic splendors.

Because this was a mere break and not a complete relief of my watch I was not permitted to remove my armor or faceplate. In the last dying breath of a summer that had fought to linger a little while longer, I found it most insufferable to wear what would’ve been more comfortable in my homeland.

But it attracted the attention of one inquisitive lad of about five or six, who seemed quite fascinated by the unique ensemble. He asked at least a dozen or so questions, which I answered with much delight. He was such a sweet and precocious little boy- with a bright innocence in him, shining through eyes wide with wonder and a smile that could melt away rainclouds.

Then I heard a voice call out from behind me: “Aaron!”

I turned around to see a man approaching. At the sight of his very handsome young face my heart hammered wildly.

It seemed like he was anxious to fetch the boy and head out quickly, but something compelled him to stay and strike up a conversation with me. I believed that ‘something’ was likely to be Mara’s divine nudge, since my soul had sent up a quick little prayer for it.

We talked for a very long time. I can’t remember what was said word for word, or even most of what we were talking about- perhaps because I was distracted by not only his aesthetic qualities but by also his elegant character (And because this was over a decade ago!).

I was swept up so that I had lost track of time- when I finally thought to glance up at the clock tower I had only about five minutes to get back to my post, which was a seven-minute walk from the Arboretum. Consumed by the dread of being late, I didn’t think to ask before leaving for his name and express my interest in getting together the following weekend. I had already made plans to explore the rest of Cyrodiil and discover new delights and entertainment, and surely company would make it ever more enjoyable. I know that may seem a bit of a bold thing to ask someone that I had just met, but within the short time we became acquainted I couldn’t help sensing the potential for them to be the family I had faithfully prayed for.

I would’ve cursed myself for missing the opportunity, but I had a good feeling that it was not the last one- surely we were bound to cross paths again!

How right I was, but it didn’t happen the way I imagined it would.

               

No more than five hours passed when a clamor, unlike anything I’d ever heard before, struck the core of my being. I raced to the Market District through the west entrance, then beheld a horror that would haunt my dreams for years.

The scent and sight of flesh and blood splattered upon the streets; the broken bodies of the dead and dying; loved ones mourning the loss and cursing those who had done this despicable thing.

On my way to the center of this grisly chaos, just passing  _The First Edition_ , I was hit with an acidic illness and fell to my knees when I caught the sight of two familiar figures on the ground.

It was Aaron, curled up in the arms of his bereaved father.

“ _AAAOOHGAAAHHH’NOOO!!”_ I screamed, so loud and hard that it burned my throat and lungs. “ _Wha-what happened??_   _What the hell happened??”_

I heard someone say once that it can take only a few minutes for a stranger to become a good friend; for just another face in the crowd to be one that you love and cherish above everything. Because of that little boy I know this to be true.

Aaron’s freckled face, filled with a zeal for life only moments ago, was covered in the blood of his fatal abdominal wound. His once soulful green eyes were glazed over with tears of pain and fear of death.

I crawled over and brought out a healing potion from my bag, but it was too late. He was already long gone.

 _“WHO DID THIS??”_  I bellowed again.

Stricken with a grief that I would fail miserably to describe, his father could not give me a verbal response. All he could do was look up at me, with a face reddened by rage and a downpour of tears, and point towards the south end of the district.

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I expected them to be members of the obscure Altmer cult that had been causing a lot of trouble in the area at the time. I never would’ve imagined the tragically ironic twist of them being the very people that had sworn an oath to protect the citizens of the empire.

Imperial Guards.

If I had allowed my emotions to dictate my actions I most certainly would have killed them right then and there, but then I wouldn’t have lived much longer myself. Regardless of what they had done to justify that response, they were still imperial soldiers- it would’ve been considered an act of treason.

I followed procedure in a professional manner, assuring myself that with patience and faith in the emperor’s wisdom justice would prevail.

But during their trial it was revealed that these twelve guards were under the influence of Skooma. They were convinced by a dealer that the substance was their best answer for their dire need for something to help them stay awake during watch.

While it did help in the way that they had anticipated, the reason for the ban became abundantly clear when they grew exceedingly paranoid and began to hallucinate.

When the large and very vocal crowd marched through the Market District with their fists up in the air, it appeared in their eyes to be something like an army of bandits attacking the city. The guards began to swing their swords at everyone within striking range. The crowd then panicked and ran, most of them directly into the deadly path of other drug-crazed guards.

The soldiers’ loud and desperate expressions of remorse successfully softened Uriel’s rage. 

For once I was severely disappointed in the Emperor’s gentle and forgiving nature. Although they were severely punished, they were not brought to adequate justice. And while the majority seemed to still love him despite this decision, a great many others were not willing to quietly accept it.

~*~

The days that proceeded the massacre, despite the small activity and light chatter here and there, were solemn and surreal. Most of the townsfolk, mourning ceaselessly over their dearly departed, holed themselves up in pubs and private quarters. Where cheerful voices and laughter once filled the streets, there was only the sound of the wind, which too seemed to have a mournful tone.

Everywhere my late hour of watch took me there was a dangerous mixture of anger and sorrow in the air. Numerous individuals who sought comfort in abundant spirits grew rowdy and stirred up chaos. Fights broke out, minor to grave injuries were inflicted, and property was damaged.

My own soul fell prey to the hungry darkness that had devoured everyone else. Thoughts of taking justice into my own hands slowly crawled back in to my mind.

But I had to keep pushing them out- such contemplations didn’t bring me comfort, only anxiety over how impossible it would be for me to carry out these tasks without being seen or leaving traces. All I could do was keep myself distracted by duties on hand and pray that these wretched men and women would be somehow dealt with appropriately by the Divine.

Then, after about four weeks passed, I received word that about half of the lot had fallen victim to ‘tragic accidents’. Even a fool knew that, due the clear evidence of intent revealed in the timing and manner of each one, someone or something was killing them all off. Every guard died while engaging in the shady activity, so that they weren’t just punished for the Massacre but exposed for their even darker truths.

An already divided city was split again over how to feel or what to believe about this mysterious avenger. For a while I didn’t know what to think, let alone know how I would react if I had witnessed the next death and see for myself this being that most presumed was a spirit born from the collective anguish and murderous thoughts.

But the moment of truth came when I was forced to make a fateful choice- the ever elusive prowler of the night had finally been caught one evening, after an entire month had passed without a single clue leading the legion in any direction. Unrelenting determination, years of hunting experience, and extraordinary intelligence had made him a successful killer… but being human, he had made one costly human error. At some point he had overlooked an obstacle or something didn’t happen the way he had predicted- only he could say what it was exactly, but it compromised what was close to being another flawless kill. Before he could recover and flee the scene, he was tackled and beaten down by a group of imperial soldiers.  
  
(End of Part I)

 


	2. What Vengeance Wrought - PII

Coincidentally, the soldiers that had caught the Hunter belonged to the unit I was assigned to, which was sent out to the wilderness of the Heartlands for unrelated matters. 

I believe it was the 8th of Evening Star, the night before we were scheduled to return to the city and turn in our report. About two hours into darkness, the first watch descended the steep foothills of the Jerall Mountains, with their loud and meaty voices rippling through the stillness of camp, whilst dragging a man by several nooses around his neck.

“Lieutenant! We got ‘im! We finally got the bastard!! This time it’s really him, I swear it!” One of them bellowed, then gathered the nooses in one hand and pulled the battered man to his knees.  
“Who?” I asked, rising and making my way over to them.  
“The bleed’n Hunter, of course! The sod’n barrel of pigspit that’s been offing us!”  
“And how are you so certain it's him?”  
“He was stalk’n Taurlius, and when we caught ‘im he was bark’n on about how he killed ‘is little whelp and that he was going to pay with his blood, just like th’rest!"  
“I say we chop ‘is noggin clean off, right here and now!” Growled another, after drawing his sword and pulling the man’s head up by his hair.

That’s when I saw his face.

It was Aaron’s father.

I shouldn’t have been so surprised. He disappeared a few weeks before the guards began to drop like flies, and only someone with his talents had a chance of taking out well-trained imperial guards. One of the things I vaguely remember him talking about during our conversation in the Arboretum was his trade. He had made a living as a huntsman, starting with large sewer rats at about twelve years old. By the time he was twenty he was bringing down trolls, ogres, and other creatures just as large and formidable.

I had a sense that, judging by the way he had carried on about it, hunting was not just a means of living. It was his passion, and may very well have been the lifeblood that flowed in his veins.  
Still, he didn't strike me as a man capable of killing a human being. Sure, I had only known him for about an hour, but I generally need only fifteen minutes with a person to have their sort figure out. I have extensive legion training to thank for this keen perception.

  
But sometimes, on a rare occasion, I am wrong. This is one of those times.

I let out a sharp and quivering gasp, then staggered a little when the shock of what I beheld weaken my legs.  
“You know this bloke, Lieutenant?” One of them asked, seeing this reaction as well as the rest of them.  
“No.” I lied, pushing the emotions back under the surface. “I’m just… I expected him to be older. Who’d have thought the infamous Hunter is a skinny little baby-faced milk-drinker?”

(Why is being a milk-drinker so bad? How is that an insult? Milk makes one strong and healthy. I don't know- there are a lot of strange sayings floating around.  
Anyway...)

I drew my silver short sword and pressed the blade against his neck as I stared into his wide and intense eyes, that began to fill with hurt over this betrayal.  
“The orders were to bring him back alive.” I said. “However, we could slice him up and tell the emperor that it’s how we found him... in one of those Ayleid ruins- maybe. Yeah. He was looking for shelter and found out too late that it was already occupied by uh... troll! Yeah! Split the rotter eight ways!”

Everyone started laughing. All except, of course, the Hunter.

He didn’t make a sound, but struck me harder with a piercing glare under his dark brows than any profane lash from his lips could. As painful as it was for me to watch him wilt under the torrential rollick, I had to maintain the façade so that the other soldiers wouldn’t be the slightest bit suspicious of my plan to help him escape.

 

I ordered them to secure him tightly to the large post of the supply tent, then volunteered to take the first watch over him. When I was sure that they were gone and no longer within listening range, I rushed over to the Hunter and knelt in front of him with a bowl of warm dumpling soup.

“Had you fooled too, didn’t I?” I asked him with a grin.

No response, or even acknowledgment of my presence. He just gave a dead stare to the poorly stacked barrels and crates ahead of him. When he finally glanced down his eyes popped wide open again, but then looked back up at me suspiciously.

"It's not poisoned, if that's what you're wondering." I whispered, then helped myself to one spoonful to assure him of that. "See! Now eat... and don't say anything. We'll talk when we're far enough away from camp."

After helping him down the soup and a loaf of bread as quickly as possible, and washed it down with a healing potion, I started to load several large knapsacks with rations and other essential items. I could see his mind filling up with questions as he watched, but he did as I asked and kept quiet.

I almost decided against heading up to the horses, aware that the nervous ones might start a ruckus over seeing two shadowy figures creeping towards them and waking the other soldiers. But we didn't have the time it would take to get to our destination on foot. We had to risk it.

Peter, the painted steed that had been a good friend and ally since before duty brought me down from Skyrim, was smarter than most horses. His only reaction to the strange man approaching was looking to me for confirmation that he could be trusted. He eased up when I whispered sweetly and gave him a few pats on the neck- seeing him relaxed, the other horses settled back down to sleep.

  
After we both mounted I had Peter walk at an excruciatingly slow speed until we were too far away for the group to hear his thunderous full gallop. Even as we scaled the road to Bruma we remained silent, keeping an eye out for other imperial soldiers. We couldn't afford to be spotted by even those whom I believed might have also secretly supported the Hunter.

 

"This is as far as I can go with you." I said to him, stopping at where the road split two ways- one to the city of Bruma and the other to the province of Skyrim. We dismounted to allow Pete a moment of replenishment and relaxation after that rigorous ride up the hill. After leading him to a small pool of water, I clutched the reigns tightly as I looked back at the Hunter, taking a moment to work out the lump of anxiety before continuing. "A hard winter is coming. By the mid of Evening Star there will be enough snow on the roads to discourage travel. So, while the search may not stop, this will delay it. In the meantime, I'll do everything in my power help... I regret to say that I cannot do more than hinder the search, and I don't think I'm going to have enough influence to make much of a difference. But I'll try."

"Why?" He asked, finally. "Why would you go to so much trouble for a stranger?"  
"Because it's the right thing to do. I was afraid to do the right thing in the Market District... I was afraid to do the right thing when justice failed... I can find a way to live with those mistakes, I think... but I know I can't live with what inaction would've done to you. I am not going to sit idly by while the one man that had the courage to take out those bastards goes to the chopping block!"  
"You are mistaken to revere me as a hero. I am not worth what you risk. But I thank you all the same."  
"It's not up to you to determine what's worth risking my life... that's my choice! Now... I have here some potions, food, and..." I brought out a candy bag that I had saved and used as a coinpurse. "Fifty septims. It's all I have on me... I know it's not much, but--"  
"Fif--! My dear, no..."  
"Yes! You will take the gold, and this..." I unbuckled the sword from my belt and held it up to him. "This served its previous wielder well... it served me well... and so I trust that it will do the same for you. But I pray that the only thing you'll have to use it for is slicing watermelons and buttering sweetrolls."

He laughed as he glanced down at the sword with gratefulness visibly filling his entire being.

"This is more than I deserve... but I again thank you wholeheartedly." He said.  
"I ask only this in return..."

It was on the tip of my tongue. I almost said: ' _That I will see you again someday... that we can pick up where we left off at the Arboretum when this whole mess is behind us..._ '

But, considering everything that had been thrown at me since I was a young child, it was a safe bet that I would never see him again. It would've been a cruel thing to make him promise the impossible.

"...that you stay safe. Whatever you do... where ever your path leads you... live full and well. I pray that the Nine favor and protect you always."  
"And may the Nine protect you."  
There was another long stretch of silence, but there was mutual understanding that there was so much more that the both of us wanted to say.  
Again, the temptation to heave those words unspoken arose, but I pushed them back and extended my hand for a simple shake.  
But he somehow knew what I really wanted and worked up the courage to give it. He bent down to my level for one light kiss, which led to a longer and more sensual exchange. Because, knowing that it may never happen again, it had to last for as long as it could.

I loved it... and hated it. It was perhaps the most beautiful thing I had experienced in my life. I thought I was going to just melt into the rock he had pressed me against. But it was what made the separation so much more unbearable. I could've stayed there all day just kissing him, but I had to pry myself away. I had to return to camp soon, or else face severe consequences.

"Maybe..." He whispered, when we came up for air finally. "Someday we could... I don't know how... but..."  
"I would like that. I truly would. I hope that the Nine could be so gracious... for once in my life."

After another long kiss, he turned with great difficulty towards the road to Skyrim. I didn't know if he ever looked back, because just as he walked away I mounted Pete and rode back down the hill, determined to fight back the temptation to abandon everything and go with him.

~*~

I hoped that he had understood why I couldn't. There had to be at least one decent legionnaire that would put a stop to further corruption in the Province of Cyrodiil... that would work to inspire others to be true to what they were fashioned for. Well, that was my ambition, anyway. Things didn't go in the direction I had hoped they would.

After months passed without a single trace of his existence, I was compelled to seek him out, but I didn't have much to work with. I could've turned to some people with deep roots in the system, but they always need to know why you want extensive investigation done, and then they record every detail of the search. It was better to personally search the long and hard way on my own than turn the attention of the legion on him.  
I had searched the graves for Aaron's headstone, hoping to get his family name (and pay due respects), but to no avail. Even his son's place of rest was a mystery.

 _“Is he dead?”_ I began to wonder, after about five years passed.

No matter what the truth was, if I had known what it was it would've been easier to find peace- it's the unknown that brings about the most maddening whirl of emotions. Having just recovered from what my father's mysterious disappearance had done to me, I was there again. In a suffocating and dank world of anxiety, breathlessness, depression, and hopelessness.

How can I expect anyone to understand how I could feel so much for someone I hardly knew, when I cannot make sense of it myself? I didn't even know his name!

There was something I had when I was with him... I don't know what it was, but I wanted more of it... I wanted to embrace and hold onto it for the rest of my life.

But it was gone. He was gone. I was alone again, and this time I had no one else to blame but myself.

 _“If he is dead, would I have been able to save his life if I had decided to accompany him?”_ Was another question that kept me up many nights, followed by the haunting realization of a mistake I thought I had to live with for the rest of my life… another demon I had to drown with alcohol.

After almost twenty years, I managed to conquer this pang of regret and move on. It helped to be distracted by the numerous challenges and adventures that the life of a warrior had thrown at me on a weekly basis. The longer I denied the memory of him the more difficult it became to recall the details of his face- about five years before the Oblivion Crisis began, I remembered only that he was very handsome.

But when these memories were brought back to the front of my mind, I began to see everything more clearly. I remembered the vivid brown eyes, long nose, long black hair- a good portion of the most pleasant of Imperial and Breton attributes coming together to form one stunning human being.

As I stared at the coinpurse, confirming that it was indeed the very one I had filled with the gold I gave to the Hunter, there was no doubt about it...

The Hunter was alive and well, and he at last has a name:

**_Lucien LaChance._ **

(End of Part II)


End file.
